


Four Steps To Feeling Again

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Arson, Child Abuse, FakeHaus, Homophobia, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, self-hate, suicidal idealation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is cold, so cold, ice cold, bones cold, and all he wants is to be warm. He searches for it, the warmth, wherever he can, wherever he thinks it might be hiding. It's trial and error, really.<br/>It's not in the burning buildings.<br/>It's not in inked pages of a story that isn't his own.<br/>It's not just off the edge of a building or in the depths of water below a bridge.<br/>And it's not in the blurring stupor of college and crime.<br/>He finds it in the hearts of seven people who he thought would never love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Steps To Feeling Again

Adam Kovic is an apathetic avoider of death. It has a nice ring to it, nice alliteration. This isn’t saying that he wants to die, it’s actually far from it, but if death came along one day and knocked on his door, well, who would he be to say no? If it had singled him out, him specifically, just to take his last breath, all that effort can’t go to waste. He believes in the old saying ‘Good work, good reward’ and in his very honest, not at all biased opinion, death works very hard.

When, when, when did this mindset come into play? At the beginning of the universe? Well, Adam isn’t really one that believes his destiny is told out in the stars, he prefers to think of it like gambling, letting the chips fall where they may, always that risk that things might not turn out on your favour.. That dirty alley with rust red on brick red and the raw, unbridled feeling? Adam doesn’t care for this point either, because this feeling, or lack of, came before that, it’s what egged him on, drove him to the alley. If he was a horse, it had lead him to the river and proceeded to drown him. And it didn’t start at his birth, Adam can’t blame anything on his mother, his sweet, darling mother who tried so damn hard and got so damn stuck and got so damn sick, nothing was ever her fault. He isn’t sure that the line is that clear, actually, it’s not like it wasn’t there one day and then there the next, he thinks that it seeped into his life like groundwater into the cracked basement of a home built in the 60’s. It’s probably more like a process, step-by-step, something you’d find in the self-help section of an old bookstore, except it’s less like self-help and more like self-doom. He should write one one day, probably, except writing just isn’t for him, not for him, his feelings don’t translate into ink and type on screen as well as when they’re spoken and left hanging in the air. 

**Step One: Arson**

Adam has a bad reputation at his school, the whispers behind his back, the tangible fear whenever he enters a room. There are rumours, rumours that he cuts his arms, he gets into fights, he stole his jacket from one of those upscale uptown shops, if he’d actually bought it, it would’ve sent his family spiralling into bankruptcy. None of those are true, he doesn’t cut, he tried once, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it because he didn’t feel justified. So, so many people have it worse than him, so who does he think he is, trying to hurry death along? And he doesn’t get into fights, he hates it, the whole swing, swing, bleed mentality of it all, the idea that fighting is glorious and worthy of honour. It’s not. The bruises on his body, on his back, his arms, trailing up his neck and spilling over onto his face like messy purple and blue ink, he hates them, how they’re the first thing anyone looks at. And he hates his fucking father for putting them there in the first place, shouldn’t he at least try to be discreet, isn’t that a common courtesy when you’re punching your son? And the jacket, his fucking jacket, black and leather and far too big on him, and it looks expensive, like fake vintage eighties wear, something that costs so, so much, and it’s not. It was his mom’s when she was in highschool, when she had just gotten into her new wave phase that persisted for the rest of her life. She probably got it for seven dollars in a second-hand shop because she thought that shopping at any brand store would be contributing to the steady rise of the government and any money saved could be put towards weed and college. It still smells like smoke, but it smells more like her perfume. He knows, knows that it was big on her too, that it came down to her mid-thigh, she was always skinny, small, frail, and that only got worse with the sickness. Yeah, Adam wears it, he’s not trying to be cool or look punk or do anything like that, he only has three things that remind him of her, the jacket and a picture hidden underneath his mattress and an old camera she took all of her pictures with, beaten and scratched and still working. Everything else is gone, sold by his father to cover her hospital bills when she died after so much suffering. Adam doesn’t remember that much of her, a hospital room with birds on the curtains, her pale hands and her cold skin and her warm smile and her rough voice telling him that he needs to grow up, he needs to be okay, she loves him and he can’t ever forget that and she holds his hand and strokes his face gently and a monotone beep fills the room as her hands fall still and nurses rush in and he is pushed to the side and there is yelling and an emptiness grows inside of him like a yearning chasm that he will spend the rest of his life trying to fill. He misses her, he misses her warmth, he’d do anything to get it back, he’s so, so cold.

He’s standing in front of a burning building, gas can slowly slipping from his hand, and the grass withers around him in the heat and the smoke and the fire. The house was abandoned, it was old, no one lived inside, he made sure of it, he didn’t need to kill anyone. 

It’s burning and it’s burning bright, oranges on oranges on reds on blues on oranges on coals, and it’s beautiful and it lights up the night like a beacon, shouting everything that Adam can’t say with every whistle and pop and crack. The jacket is draped over his shoulders and he shivers despite the fire raging in front of him. There’s adrenaline in his body now, pumping and pumping, and his heart is beating, beating, tripping and stumbling and getting tangled in itself. He loves the fire, he loves it and the way it moves, but it’s not quite right. It’s not soft and gentle and kind and wistful, it’s not his mother’s warmth, it can’t hold a candle to the feeling in her touch, but he’ll keep looking, he’ll try again soon when all the frenzy has died down.

It’s red on blue on orange on orange on red on orange on blue and there is noise filling the air and drowning out his fire and he runs, quickly in the night, jumping fences and he is trying to be silent, but he probably isn’t quiet at all and he’s probably crying.

His dad is asleep when he gets home, sprawled out across the kitchen table and surrounded by empty beer bottles that catch the dim light from the single bulb above. It’s a moment that he’s seen too many times before and he never wants to see it again, but he will. He creeps up the stairs, but he could be stomping and his dad wouldn’t wake up. He sleeps in his skinny jeans and t-shirt and her jacket and his room smells like smoke and he is so cold beneath the blankets and he is afraid in the haze of sleep that he will never be warm again, nothing will make him warm again, he’ll be cold until the day he dies and after that he will only get colder. He shivers and pulls the blankets up to his ears. It doesn’t help.

He’s always cold, shivering, he’s never warm and he hates it because he just wants his mom back. It’s stupid to think about that, he knows that, of course he does, but it doesn’t stop him, nothing can stop him

It’s this quirk, this constant shivering, this eternal feeling of cold in his bones, that gets him his first friend, in his eleventh grade photography class of all places. The camera given to him is a cheap one, but it’s good quality and the pictures aren’t grainy, and his heart is in his throat because his mother used to take pictures and it’s so, so stupid for a sixteen year old boy to be so hung up on his dead mother, but she was a protruding nail in a long hallway and she snagged the threads of his sweater as he was running by and now everything is unraveling and it’s a mess, such a mess. He is shivering as he plays with the focus and someone taps on his shoulder.

“Hey, man, you alright?” And Adam jerks his head up and there’s someone in front of him, looking at him, talking to him. “You look cold. Don’t know how you could be in that jacket, but y’know. To each his own, I guess. Here.” He pulls his hoodie over his hands and holds it out to Adam. “You’re colder than I am.” So Adam slips on the hoodie and this kid is so much taller than him and it hangs halfway down his thighs. He’s still cold, but he won’t admit it, this kid is being nice to him, he can at least try to return the favor.

“Thank you.” Adam murmurs, offering a small smile as he pulls the sleeves higher up his arms, but they keep slipping down. He gives up, letting them bunch up around his wrists.

“It’s good, man. I run hot, anyway.” He winks, and it’s supposed to be a joke, Adam knows this, but he blushes anyway. “You seem to know your way around a camera.” He gestures at the camera in Adam’s hands, now showing the settings screen as Adam plays around with the lens display. 

“I mean, kind of. I just- I’ve used them before.” Adam murmurs and the kid grins.

“Cool! I personally have no clue what I’m doing, you want to sit next to me? Guide me through it with the ghost hands and everything?” The kid asks, does he ever stop smiling? Adam hasn’t seen his expression falter once.

“I, uh, I think you’ll be fine. People kind of think I’m bad news around here, so… Maybe make some better friends.” Adam is looking out for this tall, gangly kid with a really soft hoodie, he’s gotta be new, anyone else wouldn’t look at him for more than two seconds.

“Nonsense! You seem pretty chill to me.” Some other words are said and Adam wants to protest, but then he’s sitting next to the kid at one of the tables and he doesn’t know when he got there. “I’m Damien.”

“Adam.” Adam breathes and there is something in his chest under the layers of cloth and leather and skin and it feels  _ warm _ , but it’s been so long and he’s not sure. He doesn’t listen during the lesson, he focuses on the feeling of the camera in his hands, centering himself.

He tells himself that night when a house burns extra hot, extra bright, spiralling into the sky, that he can’t get attached, Damien will be gone tomorrow with better people, better friends, and he’ll forget all about Adam. He’s still cold in Damien’s hoodie and his mother’s jacket.

But he’s there the next day. And the next day. And the next. They spend their time talking about video games and dumb things and Damien ends up seeking Adam out at lunch to sit with him and Adam has to admit, it’s nice to have a friend. 

They get their first assignment after a week of learning their way around the camera and Adam thinks it’s simple, take a few pictures of something pretty, but Damien is freaking out, somehow managing to bounce around Adam in the crowded hallways, but that might just be because everyone else gives Adam such a wide berth. 

“What am I supposed to take pictures of?” Damien worries, tapping his fingers against his bare wrist. “What does pretty even mean? Is it like, objectively pretty or what you personally find pretty? Oh god, I’m totally going to fail this. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

“Stop worrying.” Adam says and there has to be something in his voice that begs listening to because Damien instantly pauses in his constant movement. “Look, if you’re so freaked out about it, I’ll help you out, okay? I know a place that’s great for pictures and I’ll take you, okay? You have a car?” Damien nods, quickly, grinning widely.

“Yes! Thank you so much, Adam! Saturday afternoon work for you?” And Adam nods, he’s never busy, but he doesn’t exactly want to say that to Damien.

Adam waits on the steps to his house on Saturday, he can hear his dad banging around inside, and he runs to the car as soon as Damien pulls up, jumping in.

“Excited much?” Damien raises an eyebrow and Adam shrugs.

“Sure. Alright, let’s go. We’ve got pictures to take.”

Adam’s pretty place, it turns out, is a lake surrounded by pine trees and the noise of the forest. It’s empty and Damien is laughing, doubling over.

“What?” Adam asks, burying himself deeper in Damien’s hoodie, his mom’s jacket is underneath, it always is now, it’s become routine.

“It’s just- I kind of half-expected you to take me to a graveyard.” Damien chuckles. “You’ve got that whole ‘I’m punk and I want to die’ vibe going on.”

“I’m not punk.” Adam protests, but the second part of the description is very apt and he doesn’t want to comment on it. 

“Sure, sure. Oh my god, how is there sand?” Damien kicks off his shoes and they land in the pale sand with a dull thud. “This is so cool, let’s go swimming.” And together they strip down to their boxers and Adam tries to push down the blush trying to rise to his face. 

The water is cold and Damien is laughing as Adam slips and falls into it. He comes up, spluttering, but Damien’s laugh is infectious and soon enough he’s laughing.

It’s a pretty place, borderline beautiful, and Damien keeps trying to dunk Adam under the water. They take pictures eventually, small interludes from the water to dash up to the shore and trying to capture the moment. They don’t look at each other’s pictures, they’ll see them when they have to present them in class. 

They stay until it’s late and they watch the last sunrays bleed over the lake from the hood of Damien’s car, eating a bag of kettle corn that Damien had produced from his glove box. 

Adam glances over at Damien and their eyes meet and the odd warmth is back, it’s nothing like his mother’s warmth, it’s so, so different, but it’s there and there is something pulling the two of them together and then the click of the shutter on Damien’s camera rings out and the moment shatters. Adam is relieved, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

Damien drives him home and they sing along quite horribly to pop songs on the radio and Adam is really quite sure that Damien can actually sing if he tries.

Damien scares Adam. Well, more like the idea of Damien and what almost happened at the lake, they were so close and they were almost touching and Adam wanted it. But he didn’t really, right?

They’re sitting next to each other in the photography class and Adam is fiddling with the long sleeves of Damien’s hoodie.

“Adam?” Adam jerks his head up, looking at the teacher. “Would you like to show your pictures first?” Adam shrugs and slides off of the stool. Damien pats him on the back and it’s all Adam can do to stop from smiling so widely. He puts his SD card into the projector a picture pops up on the big screen. A fish in the water, shimmering, nearly iridescent, swimming above a pale hand. “Adam!” The teacher exclaims and he looks up at her, surprised. “This is so good! The framing is spectacular and the colours are amazing!” Adam looks back down and throws up another picture, fireflies in dark pine trees and a darkening blue sky spilling between them like running ink, too thin, too wet. He lingers on this one for a few seconds before putting up his final one. He’d spent a solid hour and a half trying to decide if he should show this one, but he thought it was the best picture he’d ever taken. The sun is lighting the clouds pink and orange and they mesh together above the lake, reflecting it all, and the pine trees are the darkest thing, bordering the lake and the picture. And then in the middle of it all is Damien, standing with his back to the camera, arms outstretched under the sky. There are a few hushed gasps around the room and Adam takes down the picture quickly, pulling out the SD card. “Very nice, Adam! You have quite a grasp on photography. Damien, you’re up.” So, Damien bounces past Adam and Adam offers him a smile and Damien grins in return. 

He wastes no time in putting up his first picture, sand against lapping water and footprints providing a barrier between the two. And then the next one is two pairs of shoes, lying in a pile next to each other, laces tangling together.

“Very chaotic.” The teacher compliments and Damien smiles, putting up the last picture. It’s Adam, but no one else notices this. Probably. The top half of his face is obscured in shadows and trees silhouette against a dark blue sky behind him. The bottoms half of his face is bathed yellow in the setting sunlight and his mouth is open, just barely, and he’s leaning forward. That’s the picture that broke the moment. It’s also the picture that makes Adam realizes that he is sincerely really very fucked. 

The next assignment they get is happiness which confuses Damien even more than the first one, but he just shakes his head.

“You want to go mini-golfing tonight?” Damien asks and Adam isn’t sure if Damien is asking him on a date or just asking him as a friend, but he nods before he can stop himself.

Adam takes pictures of everything, Damien, sunset, neon lights, and it all makes him feel so happy.

Damien kisses him in his car and the warmth in Adam’s chest blooms, opening and spreading to every part of his body. It is not his mother and that might be why he revels in it so, but it also might be why he pulls away first. Damien puts his hand on Adam’s shoulder as Adam looks at him. He’s shaking and Damien looks worried.

“Fuck, are you okay? Oh God, I’m really sorry.” Damien’s worry has turned into full blown distress. “God, I’m sorry, I just thought… Are you- Are you homophobic? I can just go if you want.”

“No, no, of course not.” Adam shakes his head, quickly. “I just- I mean, I’m not. I’m not. This is- This is just. Fuck. My dad, he is, he’s homophobic.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Damien apologizes, his hand is travelling upwards, resting on Adam’s neck. “Are you okay? With this?”

“I just realized that I’m a bit fucking gay, I’m alright.” Adam breathes, laughing slightly and silently willing his head not to spin.

“Can I kiss you?” Damien asks and Adam nods.

And the warmth blooms again, the unfamiliar, the new, the beautiful, and it’s roiling beneath his skin like the ocean. It’s a slow burn, scorching, unbearably hot where Damien’s fingers meet his own face. He is alight.

There’s no fire that night, he has trapped the warmth beneath Damien’s hoodie and his mom’s jacket. He is smiling.

They’re amazing together, they’re cute and sweet and there’s the underlying hint of danger that Adam is never able to shake, but it’s good, they’re good. Adam likes being warm, he’s been cold for so long, and Damien is never getting his hoodie back. They’re careful, they never go into Adam’s house together, and sometimes Adam has panic attacks and Damien calms him down in the back of his car.

“I’ve got something to show you tonight.” Adam tells Damien in the school hallways, they’re walking together. “But it’s, like, a tiny bit illegal.”

“Ooh, do I finally get to see that bad side people have been telling me about?” Damien grins and Adam laughs, shoving him lightly.

“We’ll see.” He promises.

And so that night Adam shows him the burning, an old house, a gas can, some matches, and a pocket lighter, and the inferno in front of them lights everything up. Damien looks amazed, staring into the heart of the flames. 

“It’s beautiful.” Damien breathes, words caught and torn away from his lips by the roaring flame.

“Like you.” Adam says and Damien snorts, blinking, snapped out of his fire trance.

“No fair, I was going to say that it’s like you.” Damien chuckles. 

The fire burns hot and bright and Adam takes pictures of Damien with his mom’s old camera and they laugh as they run away from the scene, breathless and wheezing and high on adrenaline and each other’s company.

Underneath the warmth, there’s the underlying sense of apatheticness, the want for nothing, and the slippery slope on the edge of death. Adam doesn’t realize that it’s there, not quite, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows about it, and he’s scared. He pushes it away, sweeps it under a rug, it’s something for him to deal with some time that isn’t now because all he wants in his Goddamn life is to be happy.

He is happy and he thinks that it’s a very, very real possibility that he might love Damien. 

There’s a corkboard in his room and it’s slowly filling with pictures of Damien and random animals and Damien with random animals and a couple of them together. He still wears Damien’s hoodie and he still wears his mother’s jacket. 

“I want to be an author when I’m older.” Damien exhales heavily, smoke floating into the air around them as he passes the cigarette to Adam. They’re at the lake again, sitting in the sand, legs tangled together.

“Do it, man. Just write stuff.” Adam flicks ash into the sand and watches it smolder. Damien’s warmth fills his body as smoke fills his lungs. “Are you going to write about us?”

“Of course.” Damien snorts. “Cliched teenage love story, how else am I going to get big?”

“Fuckin’, I don’t know, man. Get a book deal.” Adam suggests and Damien chuckles, rolling his shoulders back.

“Are you going to be a photographer?” Damien asks, voice hushed. “You’d be good at it. You’re already good at it. All your pictures are so beautiful.”

“Mostly because you’re in them.” Adam laughs, rubbing his hand over Damien’s face. “You know it, don’t lie.”

“Never said I didn’t.” Damien stands, offering an Adam a hand up. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“I’m so excited.” Adam rolls his eyes, brushing the sand off of his jeans.

“Why are you excited for school, weirdo?” Damien shakes his head.

“Obviously, I’m just excited to spend like, fifteen minutes with you.” Adam laughs, leaning against Damien. “Now, drive me, steed!”

“Steeds don’t drive.” Damien shakes his head again.

“Shut up.” Adam groans. “You’re such a loser.”

Damien kisses Adam in his car as he drops him off and Adam is giddy as he walks into the house, smiling widely and warm, so warm.

His dad is standing in the hallway, green glass bottle barely hanging from his fingertips.

“Where have you been?” He slurs and this is not the type of father that Adam likes. He prefers the drunk and passed out type when there is absolutely no interaction.

“I told you I was going out this afternoon.” Adam presses his back to the door.

“With that fucking- That fucking fag in all your pictures?” His dad asks and Adam freezes.

“W-what?” Adam chokes out. The light is hurting his eyes and his chest is tight. “N-no. I was out with that girl from school, Mary.”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, boy, I saw you. I saw you with that gay boy, I saw you kiss him.” His voice is low and angry and Adam shrinks back further.

“I didn’t!” And he hates how small he sounds, how young, like he’s fucking six again and he’s so fucking scared.

“I thought I told you not to lie! You fucking faggot! I raised you better than this! Your mom raised you better than this, that fucking whore! If I see that boy around here again, I’ll kill him!” His dad screams and something hits the side of his head and everything goes blurry. There’s a noise, a shattering, as Adam slumps to the ground and small, green pieces of glass fall around him like rain. Everything is bright and everything is loud and his dad is still shouting, but everything blurs together into darkness.

He wakes up where he fell, flat against the hardwood floor. The door behind him is cracked, slightly, cool morning air drifting in from outside and his father is nowhere to be seen. He gets up, shakily, using the walls as much needed leverage and support. He walks, very slowly, to the bathroom.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a few moments, hand ghosting over the bruise and caked blood on his face. He winces. The blood comes off easily with the help of a damp cloth and it’s not as bad as he expected. The bruise is large, but it doesn’t look that bad, and the cuts are long and shallow. He sighs, touching the mirror and blurring it slightly.

He gets dressed quickly, throwing on some random jeans and a t-shirt, pulling his two favourite jackets over his head. He glances at the clock, 7 o’clock, he has some time before Damien is here. Damien. Oh, fuck, Damien can’t be here, he can’t, he can’t. His dad will kill him, oh no, oh no. He just has to stop, with Damien, he has to because he can’t put someone that important in danger. He can’t lose the only source of warmth in his life, he can’t. He just has to… To stop. He can’t be around Damien anymore, he has to put an end to this. He grabs his backpack and walks out of the door.

He doesn’t focus on anything, he just walks, everything blurring together and his head is pounding. A car door slams somewhere and someone is shouting something and he hunches his shoulders up. Everything is too loud, he should’ve taken some painkillers or something. 

“Adam!” Somebody grabs his shoulder and he spins quickly, knocking the hand away from him. And fuck, it’s Damien. Sweet Damien, lovely Damien, worried Damien with wide eyes and a hand nearly touching Adam’s face. Adam jerks back, out of reach. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Adam hisses. “Leave me alone.”

“What?” Damien asks, confused. “What happened? Who did that to you?”

“It’s not important.” Adam takes another step back. “Leave me alone.”

“Who was it?” Damien presses, taking a step forward for every step Adam takes back. “Tell me.”

“It’s not important.” Adam snaps. Damien reaches forward quickly, trying to grab Adam’s shirt and Adam flinches unknowingly. Damien takes his hand away slowly.

“Just tell me what happened!” Damien says again and then there’s a spark of realization in his eyes, a switch flicked. “It was your dad.”

“Fuck off.” Adam spits. “You don’t fucking need to know. It happened to me, it’s my business.”

“Adam, I just care about you.” Damien says, gently.

“Yeah, well, stop.” Adam glares at him and his heart is sinking. “I don’t care. I don’t care about you, I just want you to leave me alone. You should’ve listened to me when I said that I was bad news, you should’ve listened, we could’ve avoided all of this. I don’t want to see you around my house again.” It’s horrible and Adam’s mouth is dry and Damien looks so fucking sad and upset and confused and his eyes are brimming with tears, but it’s for the best. He can’t get Damien killed.

“Can I have my hoodie back, then?” Damien asks, voice cold and monotone. Adam takes a shuddering breath and pulls the hoodie over his head. Damien snatches it from him and gets in his car, not looking at Adam again.

Adam doesn’t go to school that day, he walks, and he is so, so cold and he is shivering and there is such a lack of warmth in his blood.

The city burns that night, bright and big, but not warm enough for him. He shivers in his mother’s jacket.

He is so, so cold.

And he is so, so alone.

 

**Step Two: Avoidance**

He moves out as soon as he can, he’s fine, it’s fine, there are a few scars on his face from all the broken beer bottles, peppered across his cheek and above his eye, a few are from that night that fucked up his whole life, and there are a few on his arms, but he is fine. He’s not sad. He doesn’t miss Damien. 

And he tells himself repeatedly that he is okay. Nothing is wrong with him. He doesn’t want to die, he wants to live and have the perfect family with a wife and two kids and a dog.

He gets into college on a scholarship, he did well enough in school without Damien to distract him. 

His mother’s jacket is folded in a box in his dorm room. He doesn’t need it, he’s old enough to live without it. He doesn’t get that certain type of cold anymore, he’s imagining the chills in his bones and veins, that’s all. 

He doesn’t drink, there are bad memories that come with alcohol that he can’t get over yet. Not yet.

It’s at a party with loud music and flashing lights when he meets her. He’s standing in the kitchen, drinking water from a red plastic cup and trying to stay out of everyone’s way as they dance and get drunk around him. He’s made himself as small as possible, a habit that he hasn’t been able to shake dating to way back when he was already so small, but he thought that maybe if he was smaller, his dad wouldn’t see him. 

She walks up to him, red cup in hand, folding herself into the space next to him. Her hair is blonde and streaked pink, but that might just be the light, he isn’t sure. She smiles at him.

“Water?” She gestures to his cup and he nods. “Me too. These peeps don’t seem to realize that a lot of the majors have a big test tomorrow. God, did I just say peeps? Excuse my outdated slang.” She laughs and Adam smiles.

“No, no, it’s good!” Adam assures her. “I use just as old words, I promise.”

“I’m Carrie.” She sticks out her hand and he shakes it.

“Adam.” He says and she nods, looking at him, appraisingly. 

“You look bored. You want to get out of here?” Adam chokes on his water and she smacks her hand against her face. “God, no! I’m sorry, so sorry, not like that! I mean, you look kind of disinterested and I’ve got to dash over to the library and I wanted to know if you’d come with me. It’s not exactly a party, but then I feel like you’re not exactly a party type of guy.”

“I’m really not.” Adam chuckles. “But, yeah. I’ll come with you.”

They walk across the campus in the cool autumn air in the dark, interrupted every ten or so feet by street lamps. They talk and they laugh and the cool air is settling in Adam’s chest.

Carrie opens the library door for him, smirking.

“Ladies first.” She offers and Adam rolls his eyes, but goes in anyway. 

The library is empty and big and strangely, serenely pretty. Adam thumbs over the spines of a few books, just taking in the smell of the pages and ink.

“You like books, huh?” Carrie asks and Adam nods, picking up a book with a green cover and flipping through it quickly. “Alright, I’m gonna go grab my book.”

“I’ll be right here.” Adam murmurs, scanning one of the last pages. “Don’t get this book, though. The main guy literally only talks about sex. I mean, it’s a good book if you’re looking for that, but it doesn’t seem very plot heavy.” Carrie laughs, noise ringing out through the dusty building. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She grins at him. “I’ll be back soon.”

She’s true to her word and is back in a few minutes, finding Adam sitting cross-legged on the floor with a few books next to him. She doubles over, laughing breathlessly.

“What?” Adam chuckles, her laugh is infectious. “What’s so funny?”

“I-I just, oh God.” She wheezes. “There’s a couple making out in between the shelves and it was so gross. Sometimes straight people kill me.”

“Me too. I mean, I understand if you’re a heterosexual, but please don’t flaunt it in public.” Adam jokes, then freezes up, because what the fuck did he just say? But Carrie laughs, unphased.

“Totally, man, I get it. I can stand some of them, but some of them are disgustingly straight, y’know?” She offers a hand to Adam and she helps him stand up. 

“Did you get your book?” Adam asks and she nods, holding it up. 

“Yep! You ever find out what makes that main guy only talk about sex?” She questions and Adam nods, enthusiastically.

“The stigma society has around sex, the idea that you have to have sex to be around a man. And he’s a sadist and wants to dominate someone.” Adam wrinkles his nose. “Just a gross straight, white, conservative guy.”

“Talk about gross.” Carrie shakes her head. “Hey, so, like, are you not busy sometime next week? We could get dinner or see a movie or something. I know we were literally just talking about gross straights, but you’re nice and funny and I totally get it if you’re gay, but the offer is there.”

“Y-yeah. I’d love to go out with you, Carrie.” Adam smiles and Carrie smiles and then they laughs.

“Ew, gross! The straights have infiltrated the library!” Someone yells from another row of shelves and Carrie laughs.

“Shut up!” She yells back. “Go back to making out.”

Carrie is amazing and her hands are always warm, she runs hot as she tells Adam, and she’s so pretty and she really does have pink streaks in her hair and she’s so, so funny.

There is no warmth blooming in Adam’s chest and he is so cold and he takes her hoodies and her sweaters, but to no avail. It isn’t like it was with Damien, but maybe he just needed something different, maybe Carrie is what he needs right now.

They spend time together and she is amazing and then in a blink of an eye they’ve been dating for six months and Adam has pushed the chills to the back of his mind. 

They’re lying together in Carrie’s bed in her apartment, the sheets tangled around their bodies. Carrie’s hands are wandering, it’s a thing that Adam is used to by now, she’s rarely ever still. One of her hands rests on his cheek, tracing the smaller scars before finding a longer one and running her fingers over it, slowly. Adam shivers.

“What’s this one from?” She murmurs, voice quiet, and Adam breathes, just breathes, in the darkness next to his girlfriend and he should be comfortable here.

“Beer bottle.” He whispers and his voice should not be shaking, he should be fine. “My dad he- he found out I had a boyfriend. Didn’t take it well. Broke some glass on my head.”

“Oh.” Carrie sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry.” She lays her palm flat over his face. “All of these?”

“Most of them.” Adam nods. Carrie’s hand is gone suddenly, and then resting against the long scar on his arm.

“This one?” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Broken plate.” Adam mutters. “He, uh, he really liked to break things.”

“I’m so sorry.” Carrie says. “You deserve better, Adam, so much better.”

She falls asleep with her head on his collarbone and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he kind of wants to die and that she deserves someone better than him, so much better.

There’s a certain point where he regrets everything that has ever happened in his entire life. This point is when he’s walking down a dirty alley, Walgreens bags in hand, just trying to go to Carrie’s apartment, and the suddenly there is a pair of people in front of him and one gets stabbed, falling and coughing. The second man looks up at him, tapping the edge of the blade against his own hands.

“You didn’t see anything.” He says, voice rough. “I know what you look like, I’ll fucking find you.” He looks at Adam for a few more seconds. “How would you like to make some money?” He wants to say no, but he can’t really say no, can he? So, he nods.

Everything is downhill from there.

He runs drugs, he does small jobs, there are bags under his eyes, Carrie is worried and she says so.

“I’m worried about you, Adam.” She says, closing her laptop and looking at Adam as he struggles to write a paper.

“I’m okay.” He murmurs. “Just- just stressed.” She reaches across the table and puts a hand on his arm and the warmth blooms. It’s not like his mother, lit matches and pale smoke, or Damien, an inferno and burning gasoline, it’s just her, campfire warmth and crackling embers. He loves her, but he is still cold in the back of his mind. “College is hard.” 

“I know, sweetie, I know.” Carrie smiles softly at him. “But are you sure? You’re really sure? I just care about you.”

“Stop.” Adam snaps and Carrie draws her hand back as if she was struck and then Adam has his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I have- There are bad memories with that phrase, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Carrie breathes. “Adam, it’s okay. I didn’t know.”

“Not your fault.” Adam mutters, rubbing his eyes, and the topic is dropped, but Adam doesn’t miss the worried looks that Carrie shoots him when she thinks he’s not looking.

He stays with her over the summer and he gets bigger jobs and this is what he didn’t want, he just wants Carrie to be safe and he’s so dangerous, he thought that he was done, he thought that the fire was the end of it. Fuck.

He kills a man in an alley with the gun that was given to him, but he swore he’d never use. His hands are shaking and his mind is whirling, it was self defense, wasn’t it? The man came at him with a knife and he had to protect himself. He throws up, panting in the alley, and he runs back to Carrie’s apartment. He has to get out here, he has to leave, he’s dangerous, oh God, he’s dangerous. 

He packs his stuff in silence, shoving a few changes of clothes into a duffle bag and he digs his mom’s jacket out of the hall closet, slipping it on and relishing the comfort. He takes a picture of Carrie down from the corkboard and slips it into his pocket, his mom’s camera making it’s way into the bag soon after. He doesn’t leave a note, he can’t bring himself to, Carrie will hate him, it’s fine, it’s better than her looking for him, he could kill her. 

He looks into the bedroom through the crack in the door, at Carrie’s face, sleeping frame, and he takes a shuddering breath as the last of her warmth recedes from his body.

He leaves.

He takes the bus to the coast, gun tucked into his jeans.

Everything comes flooding at once, everything that he pushed to the back of his mind hits him on the dirty bus in the middle of a highway. And he finally realizes that he wants to die.

He is so, so cold.

And he is so, so alone.

 

**Step Three: Acceptance**

 

He lives in a blur for a while after he reaches the coast and the grinding engine of the bus is fading into the ambient noise. Nothing is clear as he establishes himself, shoots some people, gets some money, an apartment with a ratty mattress and the three pictures of the people he loves propped up against a cracked and empty flower vase. He is always cold. He feels like he deserves it.

He isn’t quite reckless, not really, but he walks down more dark alleys and does more things that aren’t really considered safe. He’s not fine, the cold is everywhere, and he accepts that.

He’s sniping one day, a hired job, simple kill and run type of thing, when someone else climbs the fire escape and slings their duffle bag down beside him. Adam takes a short breath, waiting for this person to speak or shoot him or something, but when Adam glances over, he’s just assembling his rifle, quickly and professionally. He looks up at Adam for a second and Adam nods at him before focusing back on the task at hand. 

He shoots his man in his apartment with a silenced gunshot and Adam is confident that he won’t be found for a few days. He’s about to pack up his gun and leave when the other man on the roof talks.

“Twenty bucks you can’t shoot that pigeon.” He says, voice rough and Adam chuckles.

“Done.” About thirty seconds later, he’s twenty bucks richer and they continue taking pot shots off the building together.

The next time they end up setting up sniper shop on the same roof, Adam learns that his name is Peake. Or that’s the name he uses at least. 

They keep trading off the same twenty dollar bill with stupid bets and Peake is kind of sweet for a guy that kills people for a living. Adam assumes that he does it for a living, he could just do it for fun, nevertheless, he’s very sweet.

Adam sees him yawn one time and it very nearly makes him miss a shot. He still hits the target, but not as perfectly as he usually does.

He brings coffee the next time he’s on the roof, two paper cups, and his is mostly empty already, but Peake’s is sitting untouched. He spots his man as soon as he hears someone climbing up the fire escape.

“Peake, I got you some coffee.” He calls, taking his shot and watching the man fall.

“Nice shot.” Says a voice that is definitely not Peake’s and Adam spins around to look at this stranger. “Cool scars, too. Mine are all kind of dumb.” Adam brings a hand up to his face, covering his scars.

“Fuck off.” He says, immediately, it’s a reflex, an act of defense. “Who are you?”

“I’m Bruce Greene, friend of Matt Peake’s.” He nods, smiling easily, and Adam just looks at him. Matt does suit Peake, though, in an odd kind of way. “Sorry, he couldn’t make it today, I’m here instead.”

“Cool.” Adam says, turning back around and focusing on dismantling his gun. 

“Adam Kovic.” Bruce says and Adam pauses because Peake didn’t know his full name. “You’ve done some good stuff here, even if you’re relatively new.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Adam asks, voice dangerously low.

“Calm down, buddy, I’m just here to offer you a job, a spot in my crew.” And Adam takes it with few other words exchanged between them.

The crew is… Actually kind of fun, much more fun than Adam thought it would be. It’s an easy kind of camaraderie that he tells himself not to fall into, but he does. 

They pull off heists and they go well, dead people, lots of money, lots of booze. Adam doesn’t hate it, he likes it, but he keeps the fact that he wants to die as under wraps as he can. Yeah, he does stupid shit sometimes, but it’s always brushed off, he’s fine.

They talk about his scars behind his back, he knows that, he’s fine with it. He doesn’t mind them as much as he used to, but sometimes he’ll find himself sitting in front of a mirror in his small apartment just staring at them, at himself  for hours.

It takes a month for someone to bring them up. It’s Spoole with his soft voice and soft words and soft personality and he’s a little bit tipsy, they’re all a little bit tipsy except for Adam. He’s drinking apple juice from a champagne glass.

“Adam, Adam, Adam.” He’s draped across the counter, melting, his face is flushed pink. Adam is cold, not quite shivering, but the cold hangs around him like fog, heavy and heady in the air. “You’ve been- You’re the newest, aren’t you? To the criminal crime thing?”

“According to the paper trail.” Lawrence verifies, he’s swilling liquor in a crystal glass and it’s oddly entrancing and Adam blinks to keep from staring.

“Paper trails can be hard to follow.” Adam says. “People work off the books. I’ve been in this since I was nineteen.”

“Mm, paper only starts when you came to Los Santos.” Lawrence says and Adam shakes his head.

“It should, everything before was under wraps, really.” The only reason Adam likes that is that no one here knows about the night he killed, the night he ran, the night he fled and left Carrie alone. He thinks about Carrie from time to time, like he thinks about Damien, like he thinks about his mother. 

“Where’d you get your scars?” Spoole asks, suddenly, and Adam pauses in the movement he didn’t know he was making.

“What?” He hates how strangled his voice sounds, hates, hates, hates it. It was years ago, he should be over this by now, he should be fine.

“Where’d you get your scars?” Spoole repeats himself, the rest of the crew looks at the two of them, watching. “You’ve got more than Peake, I bet.”

“Where’d I get them?” Adam repeats back before he can stop himself, he sounds like a parrot, mimicking and lacking a voice of his own. 

“That’s what I asked you.” Spoole snorts, amused, and the crew falls silent with bated breaths.

And Adam is thinking about his scars and he can feel the ghosts of pain and Carrie’s light touch and everything is spread out in front of him again, his memories opened and spilled like a treasure chest containing only brine and rotting seaweed. His father is rising in front of him, advancing.

There is a hand on his shoulder and Adam loses his composition just for a second, smacking the hand off of him. He blinks and his father is gone, sunk back into the archives of his mind. In his place is Sean, rubbing his wrist and looking at Adam, confused.

“I’m so sorry.” Adam blurts and the crew is silently confused as Adam flees, the door shutting heavily behind him as he runs back to his own apartment. This is when the crew learns not to ask about his scars.

Adam doesn’t come back the next day and the apartment is oddly quiet, but Adam is probably just sleeping, he doesn’t get enough rest as it is.

It’s the second day when the tensions are high and Adam is nowhere to be seen. Sean is fretting, toying with the hem of his shirt and bites the edges of his fingers, it’s his tell during poker and it’s what gives away his worry.

“Sean. Calm down, Sean.” Bruce says, massaging the shoulders of the younger man. Sean lets out a strangled laugh.

“Bruce, you know that doesn’t help anyone calm down.” Sean bites his thumbnail and Bruce guides his hand back into his lap.

“Adam is a grown man, Spoole, I’m sure he can take care of himself.” James says as he pours himself a cup of coffee.”

“He’s a lot more put together than any of us.” Elyse reminds him. “He’s a literal adult, Spoole. He does jigsaw puzzles for fun. For fun. We only do them when he makes us. He drinks black coffee. James literally puts six spoons of sugar in his.” James shrugs behind them, taking an exaggerated swig from his mug.

“He’s fine, Spoole.” Lawrence smiles softly. “He can take care of himself. He’s a mother hen, okay? If he’s not taking care of us, he’s taking care of himself.”

“But if he’s not okay it’s my fault.” Sean murmurs, looking down at the floor. “I made him run away, it was my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.” Joel argues. “None of us knew. If you didn’t ask him then, one of us would have asked him sooner or later. You just sped up the process. And now we know not to ask him! Sean! You’re helping us avoid awkward situations in the future.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not having an awkward situation right now!” Sean protests. “I made him run away!”

“And he bruised your wrist.” James points out, eyeing the purple splotches on Sean’s arm. “I think you’re even.”

“That was my fault.” Sean murmurs and Lawrence sighs.

“Did you give yourself those bruises? No? Then it wasn’t your fault.” Lawrence hands Sean a cup of coffee. “I know you didn’t sleep last night. Drink up, kiddo.”

“Not a kiddo.” Sean protests, but he drinks it anyway, grimacing at the taste. “God, black coffee is disgusting. How does Adam survive?”

“He said something once about drinking the blood of newborn goats, but I think he was joking.” Heads turn to look at Peake, the one who arguably has the biggest caffeine dependence out of all of them. Or maybe he just drinks a lot of it, no one can tell. “What?”

“Spoole, if he’s not here tomorrow morning, we’ll go to his apartment, okay?” Bruce offers and Sean nods, quickly. 

Sean is panicking more the next morning and his fingers have been bitten raw. The others don’t say anything, but they’re worried, so worried, this isn’t like Adam, so unlike him. 

Bruce doesn’t abide to any of the road signs as he drives and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Elyse has her eyes closed, false serenity falling over her. Sean is biting his nails and Joel’s leg is bouncing up and down. Lawrence and James are still, staring forward. Matt Peake has his head pressed against the glass window. It’s a tense space.

The door to Adam’s apartment unlocks easily and the crew spills in all at once, quietly.

“Adam?” James calls and there is no response. They move through the apartment like a wave, ebbing and splitting up to try and find their friend. 

It’s Joel that finds him sitting in the middle of his kitchen, knees drawn up beneath his chin. His eyes are open and glazed over.

“Adam?” Joel chokes out, kneeling down next to him and shaking his shoulders. He barely reacts, moving sluggishly. “Fuck, guys! He’s in here!” Seconds later, James is next to him, taking Adam’s pulse and trying to get Adam to track his moving fingers.

“Is he okay?” Bruce asks, voice rough.

“He’s alive.” James offers. “Matt Peake?” Matt stoops down next to Adam, doing the same things James did. The only difference is that Matt is a medic and actually know what these things mean.

“He’s got a fever.” Matt says. “And he’s probably dehydrated, somebody get me a glass of water.” Lawrence snaps out of his stillness and fills a glass from the sink, handing it quickly to Matt. 

He tries and semi-succeeds in getting Adam to drink it. Matt sighs, feeling Adam’s head with the back of his hand again.

“Yeah, we should probably put him to bed.” He picks up Adam carefully, still a surprising show of strength even though it’s happened before. “Where’s his bedroom?” Elyse leads him back to it and they tuck Adam in before leaving, closing the door behind them.

When Adam wakes up, it is dark outside his curtain covered windows and he doesn’t remember getting in bed. He swings his legs out from under his covers and stands up, shakily. Something smells really, strangely good and there is conversation drifting down the hallway. 

The crew is in his apartment, Adam finds when he walks into the kitchen. Peake is at the oven cooking something and the other’s are scattered around the dining room and the kitchen. And then something is wrapped around his waist and he looks down and it’s Sean hugging him.

“Hey.” Adam hedges, patting Sean awkwardly on the shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry.” Sean breathes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m so sorry.”

“Dude, it’s all good.” Adam says, looking up at the other crew members who are watching him. “You’re in my apartment why, exactly?”

“You didn’t come to the apartment yesterday.” Bruce explains. “Spoole was freaking out and we were worried.”

“You disassociated, I believe.” Peake hands him a plate piled with vegetables and chicken. “Eat that.” Adam smiles and glances around again, gaze falling on his dining room table and the cracked vase and the pictures. 

“Who put the flowers there?” Adam asks, the bright sunflowers a welcome outlier in the scene before him.

“I did.” Joel says. “I can move them if you want, I just thought they looked nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, they do. I like them.” No one asks Adam about the pictures on his table, the

boy in the lake, the laughing girl with streaks of pink in her hair, or the woman with Adam’s eyes. Those are all questions for another day and Spoole pastes himself to Adam’s side as he eats.

It takes the crew a long fucking time to get their shit together and figure out that they’re jokes about sex and how it’s basically like they’re dating already aren’t really jokes at all.

None of them are quite sure when they slip into it or how exactly it happens, but when they’re high on heist adrenaline in their penthouse, Bruce grabs Joel and kisses him. It takes a moment, but then everyone is making out with someone else and then it’s just accepted as a fact. They’re Funhaus, they’re dangerous, they’re ridiculous, and they’re probably all fucking.

It’s during these first few months, the shaky months of instability and trying to figure out how exactly eight people date each other, that Adam’s depression surges up again. Can it really be called a surge if it’s always there and it just got worse? Adam doesn’t know, but correct grammar isn’t really what he’s focusing on right now, he’s focusing more on trying not to slip up. 

He thinks that he’s doing okay hiding it. He does more reckless things during heists, but those are to save his teammates. They understand his obligation to them, his need to keep them safe.

He thinks he has it under control. He hopes he does, at least, because this, all of this, is the last thing he needs right now. 

He’s kissing Joel. Or rather, Joel is kissing him. Quite forcefully. Against a wall. 

“Do you want to take this into the bedroom?” Joel murmurs, breath hot against Adam’s ear as he nods.

The bed is a lot more comfortable than the wall and Joel straddles his legs, kissing him deeply. Somehow in all of this, Joel’s hands find their way to Adam’s neck and Adam can’t really say that he minds as he struggles to breath against Joel’s lips. The lack of air is strangely calming, peaceful, and he lets his vision fade over.

He comes to to Joel shaking his shoulders with a worried look on his face. He blinks three times in succession.

“Adam!” Joel exclaims, sighing in relief. “Thank God. Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t breathe? Like, the bad kind of not breathing, not the hot kind.” And Adam could say that it’s because he kind of wants to die, the words could come so easily if only he let them, but he does not.

“It’s kind of hard to talk when someone’s hands are on your throat, y’know.” Adam points out and Joel snorts, hitting Adam lightly.

“Shut up, you’re fine.” Joel stands, stretching like a cat. “I’m going to go find Lawrence, he won’t die on me.”

“You literally choked me.” Adam rolls his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you were trying to kill me.” Joel winks and shoots finger guns at Adam before retreating from the bed room.  Adam lets his head fall back against the pillow.

He manages to hide it for another two weeks.

Sean is on the roof again and Adam watches from the doorway as smoke drifts from his mouth and upwards towards the clouds. 

“Hey, Spoole.” Adam greets, making his way across the concrete to sit next to him, letting his legs dangle freely off the edge.

“Hi, Adam.” Sean smiles, his face warm and soft and flushed. The moon is yellow where it hangs above the city, the buildings, the lights. “Did you come out here to smoke with me?”

“Sure, man.” And Sean hands him his half-finished joint and Adam takes a drag, his own smoke mixing with Sean’s. They talk about random things, laughing raucously high above everything else and pointing out everything that’s above them, the airplanes, the stars, the yellow moon. They’re sufficiently high when Sean starts giggling, high pitched and reedy.

“Okay, okay, Adam, tell me something that nobody else knows, and I’ll do the same.” Sean offers and Adam takes another drag.

“I kind of want to die.” Adam says. “Like, all the time.”

“C’mon, Adam, this was a serious thing.” Sean shakes his head in disapproval.

“I’m being serious, Spoole.” Adam hands Sean back his joint.

“Wow, I was just going to say that I go to art museums alone because I think all of you would laugh at me if I asked you to go.” Sean says. “Mine isn’t as good.”

“I’ll go to art museums with you.” Adam vows. “But, but I’m going to go to sleep now. ‘M tired.”

“Can’t hold your drugs?” Sean laughs, kicking his legs out.

“Shut up, baby boy, it was one drug.” The blush rises to Sean’s cheeks, the same blush that comes whenever anyone calls him that. Adam thinks it’s adorable and he’s a little high out of his mind. “I’m going to sleep now. You can join me, you know.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to stay up here for a while, maybe persuade someone else to spend time with me.” Sean grins at Adam, who smiles back.

“Think Bruce is still up in the kitchen.” Adam offers.

“Just who I was thinking of.” Sean nods. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, baby boy.” Adam turns, still smiling, and he knows that Sean’s face is the pink of West Coast sunsets and over ripe peaches.

When he wakes up and comes out of his bed room, it’s one in the afternoon and the apartment seems empty, the door to Sean’s room open slightly, revealing no one inside. It’s not surprising, really, Spoole can hold his weed better than anyone else.

He only finds out that Bruce is there when he ventures out into the kitchen and tries to pour himself a glass of orange juice.

“Hey.” Bruce says and Adam jumps, the orange juice coming quite close to spilling onto the counter.

“God, Bruce, did you even sleep last night?” Adam asks, setting the carton down with a dull thump.

“Of course I slept, I can’t live if I don’t get enough sleep, unlike some people.” Bruce shakes his head and Adam shrugs, unapologetically. 

“Not my fault I’m an insomniac.” Adam says and Bruce nods, leaning against the counter and propping himself up on his elbows.

“So, Spoole told me something interesting last night.” And there it is. The point where all of Adam’s life will come tumbling down simply because he got high and let something that wasn’t supposed to slip, slip. Fuck.

“Did he now?” And Adam is very thankful for this orange juice because his mouth is suddenly bone dry.

“Yeah, actually.” Bruce nods again and Adam is avoiding his gaze, focusing instead on the countertop. “He said that you said that you wanted to die.” Adam groans.

“I’m never going to an art museum with him.” Adam says and he knows that Bruce is looking at him confused. “Look, I was high, okay? You shouldn’t really believe anything I say when I’m high.”

“But you meant it, didn’t you?” Bruce asks.

“Yeah.” Adam says, quietly. “But it’s fine, okay? I’ve got it under control, it’s no problem.”

“No problem? You admit that you want to die and then you say no problem? That doesn’t work, Adam. You should’ve told us.” Bruce’s voice is rising. 

“What was I supposed to say?” Adam snaps. “‘Hi, my name is Adam Kovic and my kink is death’?”

“Maybe not like that, but you should have told us sooner!” Bruce says.

“Bruce it’s fine.” Adam’s voice is low. “I’ve lived with it my whole life and if I say I’ve got it, I’ve got it.”

“Fuck, your whole life?” Bruce murmurs and Adam nods.

“Since my mom died, basically, but I didn’t understand it when I was really young.” Adam admits. “But it’s really fine, okay? There’s no need for you to make a fuss about it.”

“Adam, you want to die, that’s not normal, that’s not okay.” Bruce says.

“You think I don’t know that?” Adam asks. “Because I do. Trust me, I do. But this isn’t something that you can just make go away. It’s been here and I’m pretty sure it’s not leaving.”

“What about medicine?” Bruce questions. “There’s gotta be something for this, right?”

“Doesn’t work.” Adam says, quietly. “Look, it’s fine. It’s not like I go out actively seeking death, it’s more like if I’m standing the road and there just happens to be a car, I won’t move.”

“I can’t tell if that’s worse or not.” Bruce says and Adam looks up at him. Their eyes meet. “You have to tell me if it gets worse, okay? I’m the leader of this crew, I need to know.”

“Y’know, I’m the leader in everyone else’s eyes.” Adam jokes and Bruce punches him lightly.

“Shut up. Really though, I need to know.” Bruce’s face grows serious again. “I trust you not to do anything stupid. If you break my trust, I’ll break your bones or something. You’re intelligent and mostly rational and I hope you can do this.”

“I can.” Adam says. “And I’ll come to you for help if I need it.”

“You’ve got to promise.” Bruce says and Adam rolls his eyes.

“I promise.” Adam is speaking overdramatically, but he’s smiling. “Do we need to pinky swear, too?”

“No, it’s good.” Bruce smiles. “I should probably call the crew, tell them that they can come back.”

“How did you get them out of here?” Adam asks. “As leader of this crew, I need to know so I can use it against them again.”

“I sent them to a craft store to get stickers to put on our guns.” Bruce answers, smirking.

“How does that work?” Adam questions. “Isn’t it like grab stickers and go?”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever met our fabulous boyfriends Lawrence, Joel, Spoole, James, and Matt, but they are all very particular about their guns and now what’s on them.” Bruce says.

“What about Elyse?” Adam asks and Bruce smirks.

“Elyse is the one that already has stickers on her gun.” He explains and Adam sighs.

“She’d be the one, wouldn’t she?” Adam finishes the rest of his orange juice and Bruce taps him on the shoulder.

“You’re sure you’re okay? You don’t need to talk to anyone?” Bruce checks.

“Bruce, I’m fine. If I need to talk to anyone, I’ll come to you first.” Adam promises and Bruce nods, satisfied. 

It seems to go kind of okay after that. Bruce keeps an eye on him during heists, but ultimately he trusts Adam and more often than not lets him go off on his own. The rest of the crew kind of notices that something is up, the way Spoole stays closer to Adam than usual, the way that Bruce will talk to him in the dead of night, voice low and quiet and rough. 

Adam doesn’t show up in the apartment one morning and Sean is steadily fraying the hem of his shirt even though he knows that he did nothing wrong, but he is worried, and Bruce paces the apartment, back and forth and back and forth, wearing paths into the carpet.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Lawrence asks, finally, standing up from where he was working on his laptop. “You’ve been like this since this morning!”

“Worried about Adam.” Sean says, shortly, he doesn’t mean to sound rude, he’s just stressed.

“He’s probably just late.” James reasons, shrugging. “Like, really. If he’s not here by tonight, we should go then.”

“Remember last time, though?” Joel argues. “Plus, he rarely goes back to his apartment, he stays here most nights now.”

“I think we should go check on him now.” Matt says, quietly.

“You know something that we don’t, Peake?” Elyse asks, jokingly, but the joke falls flat when Peake looks oddly pensive.   
“I’m not sure. Maybe. I might be wrong, but I don’t think I am.” Matt admits. “I kind of hope I am.”

“Alright, fuck everything else, we’re going.” Bruce declares, grabbing his keys from the hook.

The car ride is too similar to the one before and the quiet is tense .

They pile into Adam’s apartment and find him seconds later, sitting at his dining room table surrounded by books. He looks up as they enter, confused.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is rough and his eyes are red, like he’s been crying.

“You didn’t pick up your phone.” Bruce answers. “Are you okay?” Adam closes his eyes and nods as Matt steps forward, picking up one of the photos on the table and inspecting it.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Matt asks and Adam nods, shakily, looking back down at the open book before looking back up. “I’m sorry.”

“Not to sound stupid, but who?” James asks and Matt turns, holding up the picture.

“Damien Glenn, successful author, died unexpectedly last night. This is him.” He shakes the picture slightly.

“I’m so sorry, Adam.” Elyse breathes. “Did you- Did you know him?”

“I loved him.” Adam breathes. “In high school. We met in photography class, I took that picture. He said he was going to write about us.” There’s a lapse in Adam’s speech, but the others stay silent, hoping that Adam will continue. “He was- God, he was amazing. He, uh, he forgave me, y’know? Not in person, in one of his books, he must have known that I’d read them, that I’d promised him so long ago. It’s an overheard conversation in a coffee shop in one of these books and it’s along the lines of ‘I understand and I forgive you. I hate your dad, too. Are you okay now?’”

“Why does he hate your dad?” Lawrence asks because right now Adam is opening up, something he’s never really done before. Adam chuckles.

“He kissed me in my driveway, in his car. My dad saw.” Adam bites his lip. “When I went inside, he yelled at me. Threatened me. Threatened him. Said if he ever came around again, he’d kill him. Broke a bottle over my head.” His hand goes to his scars, tracing over them in unconscious movement. Sean covers his mouth, horrified. “I couldn’t let him hurt Damien, so I yelled at him. Ruined everything. I had to keep him safe.”

“And he knew that.” Joel nods, understanding. “Of course he did.” Adam nods back.

“Didn’t mean it hurt any less.” His voice is scratchy and he bites his lip again.

“What about the others?” Lawrence asks and this is a rare time, Adam opening up to them, Adam telling them things about his life before them.

“That’s Carrie.” Adam taps the first photograph lightly and it shudders, nearly falling, but not quite. “My girlfriend in college. We bonded over making fun of straights in the college library when we should have been at a party. She was great. Funny, smart, everything.  I got pushed into the whole crime thing, and I had to leave so she wouldn’t get hurt. No note, no goodbye, nothing. She’s probably better off. And that’s my mom. She died when I was really young. I don’t have a lot of things to remember her by.” He looks down at himself. “But I’m wearing her coat.”

“And people thought that you stole that look from the Vagabond.” James jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Adam laughs, lightly.

“We’re gonna go.” Sean declares, smiling at Adam. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m just gonna read, probably.” Adam holds up one of his many books by Damien Glenn. 

“If you need me, call.” Bruce says from the doorway. “I’ll pick up.”

“Thanks.” Adam answers and with that they walk out, leaving Adam to the words and the memories of something else, of something before, of something long gone.

Adam gets more reckless and he does more stupid things and he can’t help it, he tries and he really can’t. 

Rain is pelting the windows and James is at the communal penthouse alone with Elyse when a cell phone rings, vibrating against the polished wood of the coffee table in front of them. Judging by the mishmash of colourful stickers on the back, it’s either Elyse or Bruce’s phone and Elyse has hers in her hands. She peers at the screen, carefully.

“It’s Adam.” She says, pulling the phone towards her. “Should we answer it?” The phone buzzes again. 

“I mean, why shouldn’t we? Adam always calls Bruce when he needs something.” James reasons and Elyse answers the call, quickly tapping it to speaker phone.

“Bruce, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, can you- can you come pick me up?” Adam sounds like he’s on the verge of crying and the sound of falling rain is audible in the background.

“Adam, fuck, are you okay?” James asks and there’s silence on the other side of the line for a few moments.

“James, why do you have Bruce’s phone?” His voice is wobbling like Spoole’s does during the aftermath of a panic attack.

“He left it here.” Elyse chimes in. “And we answered because we thought it might be important and apparently it was. We can come get you.”

“No, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s fine.” Adam’s voice is being drowned by the noise of rain.

“Adam, we’re coming to pick you up.” James declares, voice firm. “Where are you?”

“The bridge near Cherry Street.” He is so, so quiet.

“Are you okay?” Elyse asks, restating James’ earlier question because it needs to be asked again. In the silence that follows, Elyse can hear her own pulse and she hopes to God that Adam’s is not slowing down.

“No.” Adam murmurs and James is jumping off the sofa, grabbing his keys and Elyse is running after him, phone in hand.

“We’re coming, Adam, we’ll be right there.” She says, her words rushed. “Don’t hang up, okay? Don’t hang-” The dial tone cuts her off and she swears. “Phone went off.” She slides into the front seat of James’ car.

“Well, fuck.” James answers, turning the key in the ignition. “Fuck, I hope he’s okay, I really hope he’s okay.” The car ride to the bridge is stressful and the staticky radio does nothing to ease it. 

“Is that Adam?” Elyse asks, pointing to a hunched figure on a bench on the bridge. Before James can answer, she’s out of the car and running over to him. James is not far behind her. “Adam! Are you alright?” He looks up and his face is wet and Elyse doesn’t know what’s tears and what’s rain. “Oh, honey.” She pulls him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is still quiet, still shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” James asks, threading his fingers through Adam’s hair. 

“I didn’t trust myself to drive.” Adam answers, head pressed against Elyse’s shoulders.

“Why not?” Elyse asks, softly, and Adam takes a shuddering breath. 

“Because I was thinking about jumping and if I crashed the car, I could hurt more people than just me.” The falling rain fills the silence that follows Adam’s words. 

“C’mon, Adam, let’s get you home.” James helps Adam stand and loops his arm around his shoulders. 

When they’re in the dry warmth of the car, James speaks again.

“I’m glad you called us.” James says and Adam groans, softly, letting his head hit the back of the seat.

“I’m so fucked up.” Adam says like it’s an admittance, a confession.

“You think you’re alone in that boat?” Elyse asks, rubbing her hand over Adam’s shoulder in the backseat. “We’re all criminals, Adam, we kill people to make money. If you want to talk to someone about being depressed, talk to Matt Peake. Or Joel. Or Lawrence. Or Bruce. Literally all of us have struggled with it.”

“I know, I know, I do. It’s just hard.” Adam responds. “But I’m- I’m not depressed. I’m not. I just… Want to die. Sometimes. Most of the time. I never go through with anything, though, and if I think I might, I call Bruce. Or you two, apparently.”

“We’ll come and get you if you call us,” James promises. “We’ll drop everything.”

“Thanks.” Adam lets his head rest against Elyse. “Thanks.”

He is nearly asleep by the time they get back to the penthouse. Elyse and James have to lug him into the elevator and carry him into their apartment. Sean is there, looking very confused as to why they’re carrying Adam, and he starts to move forward to try and help when Elyse shakes her head, smiling. 

They tuck him into the big bed in the room just off the living room and Elyse presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep well, baby boy.” She whispers.

Adam has his own defense squad, James and Elyse and Bruce and Sean, and they stick to him like double sided tape, they want to make sure that he’s okay, that he knows they love him. They want him to be okay, they need him to be okay, and when he disappears into the night and into the dark, they worry. They don’t follow him, they don’t want to smother him and they completely and utterly trust him, he can take care of himself, and if he can’t, he calls them.

But then, somehow, none of them are fucking there. Bruce is in a meeting, something high scale and important with Rooster Teeth, and Sean went back to Oregon for a weekend, and James and Elyse are out celebrating their anniversary. He has no one to turn to. Well, James and Elyse are still in the city, but he doesn’t want to ruin their special date, he can’t, so he does the only thing he can think of.

Matt’s phone buzzes, sliding across the counter and he barely manages to catch it before it falls to the floor. He answers it, sliding his finger across the screen without looking at the caller I.D..

“Hello?” He says and the voice on the line surprises him, even though it shouldn’t.

“Hey, hey, Matt.” Adam greets, he sounds like he’s about to either laugh or cry and Matt can’t tell which one it is.

“What’s up, Adam?” Matt asks, Adam doesn’t normally call him, he always calls the others, and Matt hates talking on the phone anyway.

“Matt, who are you talking to?” Lawrence asks, walking into the kitchen. Matt gestures to the phone pressed against his ear and mouths ‘Adam’. Lawrence furrows his eyebrows and shrugs, pouring himself another cup of coffee, too much coffee if you ask Matt, it’s almost midnight. Joel rolls his eyes from where he’s perched on the counter.

“Matt, can you- Can you come get me?” And now Matt is pretty sure that Adam is on the verge of crying.

“Don’t you have your car?” Matt asks, confused, because Adam has been gone since three in the afternoon, where has he been without his car?

“I-I don’t, no. Can you just come pick me up? Please?” Adam asks and Lawrence is watching Matt talk to Adam, trying to figure out the one side of the conversation that he can hear.

“Yeah, of course, where are you?” Matt taps his fingers against the counter.

“Intersection of Milton and Fourth.” There is silence for a moment, no ambient noise on Adam’s end, but then again, it is the middle of the night.

“Near our old building?” Matt clarifies, because their old shooting spot is right there, if he’s not mistaken. He doesn’t think he is. Adam makes an affirmative noise. “Are you okay? Not bleeding out in an alley or anything?” Adam chuckles, the small noise only serving to confuse Matt even further.

“No, no, just come down, okay?” And Adam cuts off the call, leaving Matt staring at his phone in his hand before grabbing his car keys.

“What’s up?” Joel asks as Lawrence takes a sip of his coffee and Matt shakes his head in disapproval.

“Adam wants me to pick him up, you want to come?” Matt offers and Lawrence nods, quickly, pouring his coffee into a travel mug with a precision and skill that Matt cannot reckon with. Joel 

The ride over in Matt’s car is punctuated by staticky bursts of the top one hundred playlist whenever Joel decides that they might be in range again. They’re not and Lawrence gives up as Matt pulls the car up beside his and Adam’s old building. He gets out and looks around. The streets are empty, filled only with pools of streetlamp light and flashing neon signs. It’s late and it makes sense for no one to be out, but Matt can’t see Adam. Lawrence voices his thoughts. 

“Alright, I give up, where is he?” Lawrence asks, looking up and down the streets again. “Hide and seek is a fucking kids’ game, do I look like a kid to you?” Matt tosses his phone over the car to Lawrence.

“Call him and put it on speaker.” Matt orders. Lawrence and Joel trail Matt across the street as Matt peers down the alleyways, searching for any trace of their boyfriend. Adam picks up the second the phone begins to ring, but he waits for Lawrence to talk.

“Adam, baby, honey, sweetie, where are you? We’ve been looking for you.” Lawrence asks, putting the phone on speaker, quickly.

“Look up.” Adam says and they both tilt their heads upwards. Adam is sitting on the edge of his and Matt’s old sniping building, legs dangling off the edge. He waves at them.

“What are you doing up there?” Matt questions and they can see Adam lean away from the phone, slightly.

“Just… Chilling.” He offers, shrugging. Lawrence sighs.

“Are you going to come down?” Joel asks and there’s a moment of silence in the night.

“I mean, probably. Sometime. Eventually.” Adam says and a herd of drunk, stumbling people walk across the mouth of the street, silhouettes and shadows falling across the ground.

“Are you okay?” Matt asks, voice soft, and the lapse of silence is longer than this time. 

“I- Fuckin’-” There’s a long, drawn out sigh on Adam’s end. “No. If I try to climb down myself, I’ll probably jump off.” Lawrence sucks in a breath and Adam laughs, a breathy, stressed laugh. “I’m using a fuck ton of my self control not to jump off right now, okay? Okay, okay, I’m fine. I’m alright. I’d just really prefer it if one of you would come and help me get down so I don’t, y’know, die tragically in front of the three of you.”

“Okay, stay on the phone with Lawrence and Joel, I’ll come and get you.” Matt nods at Lawrence and dashes around to the back of the building, starting to climb the rusty maintenance ladder. 

He gets to the top, eventually, and his left hand might be bleeding slightly, but he’s fine. Adam is still sitting on the edge, phone loose in his hand and staring off into the distance. Joel’s voice echoes tinnily through the speakers and Matt gives them both a thumbs up. A dial tone sounds as they hang up, Matt’s got it, they know that. 

“I’m sorry.” Adam breathes as Matt places a soft hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I get like this and I wouldn’t usually call you, but no one else is around.”

“It’s alright, you don’t need to apologize.” Matt’s hands find their way to Adam’s hair. “Are you okay, though?”

“I haven’t jumped.” Adam offers. “That’s a pretty good sign that I’m not at my worst.”

“Let’s go home, Adam.” And Matt helps Adam down the ladder, slowly and carefully, and straps him into the backseat of his car. Lawrence gives Adam his coffee and sits next to him and Adam looks extremely grateful, melting against Lawrence’s side as Joel traces shapes and patterns on his skin.

It gets bad every once in a while, of course it does, and Adam will call people from the crew, from his motley family, and they’ll find him once again on top of a building or sitting on the edge of a bridge, but he’ll never be doing it. He came close one time, so close, and it was horrifying, Sean barely managed to keep him from jumping and Adam apologized so much, too much. They knew it wasn’t his fault. But other than that, he never really came close to death. He wanted to, they knew that, but he was trying for them. He was standing a few steps away from the line when he wanted to be across it. He was trying and they were trying and everyone was hopeful.

 

**Step Four: Abandonment**

They’re at a heist, doing a heist, it’s the middle of the heist and everything is too damn loud. A bomb went off, Adam’s not sure if it was theirs or if it belonged to the rival crew that owned the warehouse, but his ears are ringing and he is stumbling and he is pretty sure that it’s his blood that’s on his hands. There’s a wall of flames rising behind him, his shadow is flickering in front of him, and he presses his dripping hands against his ears, trying to block out the noise. James is next to him all of a sudden, hand on Adam’s shoulder, guiding him through the debris, blue eyes centering, calming, twin oceans in all of the fire.

James is touching Adam, hands on his cheeks, trying to get him to focus, he’s saying something, his mouth is moving and Adam can’t hear him, the rush and roar of his own blood too loud. His eyes flick down, just for a second, a fleeting moment, but long enough to see a red dot quivering on his chest. He looks back up, James is still talking and there’s a sudden moment of movement as he realizes what the dot means, what it symbolizes, what is due to come, and he pushes James to the ground, out of the way, out of harm’s way and he’s about to follow, to duck and cover, but his movements are sluggish and then-

There’s clarity in the pain, he was shot, he was shot, and the noise is back to almost normal and James is yelling, screaming, cradling Adam’s face, and Adam can hear his own laboured breaths, his stumbling heartbeat, and James is talking to him.

“Adam, fuck, Adam, baby, you’ll be okay, I swear. Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake. You’ve gotta, do it for me, stay awake, stay awake.” His words are rushed, not quite slurred, but falling so quickly from James’ mouth that Adam feels like he might drown. 

Everything’s a blue, but then his head is in Elyse’s lap and Sean is running his fingers through his hair and they must be in the back of his car and he is in so much pain, so much pain, and he feels like he might be dying, his heartbeat trips over itself again.

“I don’t want to die.” He whispers through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to die. Oh, fuck, I don’t- I don’t want to die.”

“I know, baby, I know.” Elyse’s voice is gentle and soft and cool, so cool, and Adam is hot, so hot, he is burning up. “You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.” She says it in reassurance, but Adam isn’t sure if it’s for him or for the rest of them. 

“I can’t die, I can’t die now, I don’t want to leave you.” There are tears welling in Adam’s eyes and all he knows is that there is pain, pain everywhere, painted across Elyse’s face in running tears and spilled over his body in a messy fashion and he’s quite sure it’s filling the car, how are the others breathing through it, he can’t breathe through it, he chokes, coughing, and the pain flares again. “I love you.”

“We love you too.” Spoole says, voice shaking, he sounds so close to panicking and he tries to apologize for making him worry, but coughing cuts him off again. Elyse puts a finger to his lips and it’s the that he realizes that his hands are red, is that his blood? Is that her blood? Is she okay?

“Quiet, baby, shh. Save your strength, okay?” Her lips are pink in contrast to the red blood and her eyes are blue and her cheeks are white and her hair is gold and his vision blurs to black.

Caleb is waiting for them at their apartment and they take Adam as soon as they get through the door, rushing him back to a makeshift surgery room.

Elyse has blood in her hair and caked on her hands, Sean has blood on his fingers and streaked across his cheeks from where he tried to wipe away tears, James has blood staining the front of his shirt in large patches, Matt has flecks of blood on his bare arms, Joel, Lawrence, and Bruce are remarkably unmarked, unmarred,

It takes about twenty seconds after Adam is out of their sight for Sean to break down. He sinks to his knees, sobbing, as bloody hands fist in his hair, hat knocked off and forgotten on the floor. There’s a moment of stillness, an odd second of nothing, before everyone is on the ground next to Spoole, hugging him, trying to comfort him as he take shuddering breaths and tries to get his hands to stop shaking.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Adam’s going to be fine, he’s tough, he’s going to be fine.” Bruce has wrapped himself around all the others, acting as a shield to anything around them. 

This is… Hard. It’s the first time they’ve come this close to losing anyone, it’s the first time they might lose someone.

In their ragtag group, they migrate to the sofa, bundling up in blankets and pillows and each other. It’s lacking warmth without Adam, they can’t lose Adam, they can’t have everything be missing someone.  

Bruce’s phone rings, loud in the stifled silence, and he slips out of their blanket pile to answer it.

“Hello.” There’s a lump in his throat and it’s hard to talk around it. 

“Hey, Greene.” It’s Geoff Ramsey, of course it is, who else would be calling him? Who else even has this phone number? “Heard about what happened, how’s he looking?”

“I don’t know. Caleb took him back as soon as we got here.” Bruce lets out a breathy laugh, the signature noise of a stressed man. “There was a lot of blood, Geoff.”

“I know, I know.” Geoff’s voice is quiet, but strong, and Bruce takes solace in it. “I learned stuff when I went through this with Ryan, when that fucking fool got himself shot. Stay strong, alright? Tell the others that it’s going to be okay, that everything will be fine. You’ve gotta- You’ve gotta be an example.”

“I’m trying.” Bruce nods even though Geoff can’t see him.

“What happened?” Geoff asks, softly. “I thought Adam was careful as fuck.”

“He is, usually. On heists, at least. There was an explosion, the other crew set a bomb off. Adam was hit with the brunt of it, we think he got a concussion, we’re not sure. James was there, he was trying to get Adam out and then Adam pushed him to the ground and he got shot.” Bruce sucks in a breath.

“Fucking sucks, man. If you need anything, hit us up, okay?” And Geoff means it, he’d do anything for Funhaus, Bruce knows it. “Hang in there.” And the phone call ends, abruptly.

Bruce sighs and walks back into the living room, sinking back into the pile of his family. There’s blood on the sofa, they’re going to have to get a new one. Adam’s in charge of that, of course he is. Joel would be, but the last time he did it he bought a quarter of a million dollar chair. So, yeah, Adam, being the only other person with a real sense of decor, has that job. 

They stay on the couch, melting into each other’s touch and trying to slow their hammering hearts, for two hours before Caleb walks in, peeling a pair of blood-stained latex gloves from their hands. They look at him with wide eyes and bated breath, they don’t want to talk first, they just need to know.

“He’s alive.” Caleb says and they start to breathe again, their heart starts to beat again, their blood starts to pump again. “I’ve got him drugged up, he’s in a lot of pain, but he’ll survive.”

“Fucking- Really?” Sean squeaks out and Caleb nods.

“Yeah.” Caleb smiles, softly. “He’ll be fine in a few months.”

“Can we see him?” Lawrence asks, hands finding Joel’s and squeezing.

“Of course not.” Caleb shakes his head. “I just had to dig a bullet out of his stomach. He is asleep, he’s going to need a fuckton of sleep, and he won’t get any if you guys are in there. You can see him soon, though, I promise.”

Soon turns out to mean that night when Caleb is asleep in an armchair outside of Adam’s room and they sneak through the window from the outside. They pile onto Adam’s bed, being careful not to disturb the IV’s or breathing tubes, and they all miraculously fit on the bed. 

Joel stays awake, he can’t sleep, not like this. Instead, he sits cross-legged at the end of the bed, trying to figure out how none of them are falling off and watching the ones he loves as their chests rise and fall. And then Adam stirs, blinking his eyes open and peering through the darkness.

“Joel?” His voice is so quiet, low and rasping.

“Yeah.” Joel answers. “It’s me. Are you okay?”

“I’m not- I’m not dead.” Adam blinks three times in succession, he is confused. “I thought I was going to die. I didn’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”

“I know, I know, baby.” Joel reassures, reaching out and stroking Adam’s hand. “It’s okay, Adam, it’s alright, you’re alright, Go back to sleep.’

“Okay.” Adam whispers and he closes his eyes.

He is warm, so warm, and it’s comforting and homey and it reminds him of his mother, but it’s so different. It’s not the fires and flames of burning buildings or the quickly dying matches or the campfires, it’s just the people around him, the people who love him, the people who he is lucky to have, the people he is lucky to love. 

He has never been this warm and it feels like he is burning, but in a good way. He is basking in this heat, this warmth, and he never wants to be cold again, he dreads being cold again. 

He does not want to die, he can’t, he doesn’t want to leave these wonderful few behind, he can’t, he can’t, he needs them. 

He sleeps in comfort that night for the first time since his mother died, surrounded by the warm bodies of the people he loves and the sound of their hearts breathing and their chests rising. He loves them more than anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> look!!! i'm alive and writing!! the only reason i haven't posted anything lately is because this took so long, i'm sorry, but you've got it now and i've got a few other things in the works.  
> you have literally anything to say? comment!!  
> you can find me at taptaptapping.tumblr.com and feel free to shoot me a message or send me a prompt or follow me, yeah, it's up to you, really  
> <3


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